Fate of a Faux (Lords of Rathe #2) Read Online Meagan Brandy, Amo Jones

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Dark, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Forbidden, Paranormal Tags Authors: , Series: Amo Jones
Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
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Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
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For the Giftless, broken hearts can mend, but a literal torn soul? Not so much. I hate him.

I hate how bad my entire being aches for him.

It's disgusting.

Ben’s fear-filled gaze pops into my head, and I scream, jerking a moment later when the ashes fly around from the gust of my shouts.

“Fuck!” I wipe my snotty nose, scrambling to my knees and swiping my hands across the floor, only the ashes stick in random spots from my tears and more.

“Dammit!” I panic. If I knew how to use my magic, this wouldn’t be an issue. I could conjure something or cast a spell or who knows! Maybe my power was the art of cleaning, and I could save all I have left of Ben.

But I can’t do that, and I don’t know the extent, or lack thereof, of my magic because the Deverauxs took that from me. Maybe I should be grateful I wasn’t murdered the second Temperance was, that someone, somewhere dared to cross them, to spare me, but I'm not.

I wish they had killed me then. I wish I had died that day eleven years ago. If I had, Ben would still be here.

He never would have met me, so he never would have died because of me.

I cry harder, growling at nothing and everything, and I fall back onto the floor. I roll onto my back, tears falling into my ears and hair as I start to shake.

It’s all my fault. Everything is my fault.

Temperance is dead.

Ben is dead.

My uncle is probably dead.

My mate and I wish each other were dead.

“Fuck.” My entire being quakes and I can’t take it.

I throw my hand out, feeling around in the mess until I find a large enough piece of glass, and then I close my fist around it, squeezing until its blade buries itself into my palms.

There's nothing left for me in this world or the human one, and even if there were, I wouldn’t want it.

So, with a heavy sense of numbness, I lift the sharp shard and drag it from my left wrist to the bend of my elbow. Rolling over, I fist Ben’s ashes, watching as my blood mixes with them, creating a pile of mush that cannot be saved.

I don’t want it to be saved.

I want to die right here beside him.

I don’t want to feel the empty pit Knight will never fill.

I don’t want to breathe the air that’s stale in comparison to when he’s near, only I don’t want him near.

“I hate him! I hate everyone!” I cry.

My lips part, and I scream until I can’t anymore, burying my face in my hands, then banging them against the floor over and over until the blood not only comes from the wounds I created, but the new ones I’ve earned. My knuckles are deformed, the bones cracked, my body too heavy to hold as I slump backward, hitting my head on the edge of the cot on the way down, but I don’t fucking care.

I’m so.

Fucking.

Done.

Exhaustion falls over me like a warm, weighted blanket, and for a moment I wonder if it’s time. The ambience of calmness feels like a shot of heroin, and I shiver when ice rolls through my veins like death itself welcoming me home.

Please let it be time...

“How’s my little troublemaker doing—” I think I hear through the ringing white noise pounding at the back of my head. “What the fuck?!”

My eyes peel open just as someone drops beside me. His face is blurry at first, but then baby blue eyes are staring into mine. They’re wild, tired … and something else I can’t name.

“Ledge?”

“Yeah, baby, hold on.”

“No.” I pull away, but the movement is broken, shaking my head. “What are you doing here? Le—leave me alone.”

“Ain’t happening.” He wraps his arms under my body, lifting me with zero effort, and sets me on the bloody cot while he looks me over more. “What the fuck is all over you?”

“What your brother left of my best friend,” I tell him, searching for a reaction through heavy lids. He either doesn’t give one or my focus is too fucked to catch it. Likely the former.

“I need to get you to a healer.”

“I don’t want to be healed.” I try to pull myself out of his hands, looking to the wide cuts on my arms, blood still rolling over my skin in warm waves. I raise my eyes to his stubbornly. “I want to die.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not human, remember?” He lifts his shirt over his head, pressing it gently to my cheeks. “It's gonna take more than that. All you’re doing is leaving yourself weak for someone else to finish the job or worse.”

His words hit hard, and I start to cry again, suddenly the weakest version of myself.

“So do it! Send your mother in. I bet she would get off on it, twisted bitch.”



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